


Room #2

by phantisma



Category: Justified, Supernatural
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Biting, M/M, Rimming, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:33:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Take one US Marshall who has had a rough week and is looking to lay low. Add one soulless hunter who has just finished a job in the backwoods of Kentucky and has a little time to kill.  Add whiskey.  Stir gently...or not so gently....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room #2

It ain’t the kind of place where you end up by accident. You gotta know it’s out there, have to make an effort.

Only folk that know the place are local. Born there, likely die there. It’s a hidden little place that Raylan chased a fugitive through one time, hidden back in the hills. And since Art told him to take his time, maybe find a nice little hole to hide out in for a bit, Raylan thinks it's as good a place as any.

The whole place consists of a bar bellied up alongside a seedy looking motel and an old dry goods store that doubled as gas station and post office and local jail. The church pulls double duty too, taking the place of the town hall and meeting center.

Off the side of the church is a cemetery, old as the dirt that holds the bones from moonshiners and feuding families going back longer than the memories of the people who live in the area. 

It’s a locals only kind of place.

It’s a surprise then, as he pulls up outside the bar, to see a dusty black mustang parked there, Kansas plates. 

There’s one guy at the bar when he walks in, a big guy….broad shoulders, big arms, positively huge hands….hands that were made for doing things Raylan really shouldn’t be thinking about. Not here. In a place like this. He has to adjust himself, hoping it looks casual enough as he moves into the room. 

The big man doesn’t look up as Raylan approaches the bar and takes the stool two down from the big guy.

“Don’t know as we’ve ever had two outsiders in the same month,” the barkeep says, putting a glass down in front of Raylan. He’s old, with a bend in his back that looks painful. “I got whiskey, and I got beer.”

“I’ll have the whiskey.” Raylan responds, eyeing up the big guy, before he looks back at the bartender. “And a room, if that’s all right.” He drops his hat on the bar and pulls a hand through his hair. 

“I’ll tell the misses.”

The man shambles off, leaving Raylan and the big guy with a shaggy mop of brown hair. “So….”

Raylan lifts an eyebrow and his glass, turning to look at him. “So…what exactly?” Raylan asks.

The man turns toward him. “I was waiting for your cheesy pick up line.”

Raylan doesn’t have to mock surprise, and smirks a little. “Wrong kind of bar for that, I think.” 

The man tosses back his shot and looks Raylan in the eye. “You think?”

“This being Kentucky and all.” Raylan says, tossing back his shot and putting the glass down on the bar. 

“You look like someone who knows how to handle himself.” The man stands, pulling the stool between them out of the way. 

“I’m not looking for any trouble.” Raylan says, holding up both hands, though that leaves him a little defenseless when his cock decides to respond to the way the guy is hovering over him. 

“I’d say someone is.” One of those big hands moves, faster than Raylan sees, and rubs over the outline of his erection in his jeans. “Or do you get hard any time you drink?”

"Hold on there, cowboy." Raylan pushes his stool back and stood enough to reach over the bar for the bottle of whiskey. It has the added benefit of getting his groin out of the big guy's reach. "We haven't even been properly introduced."

Raylan pours more whiskey into his glass and the big guy puts his glass on the bar for more as well. "Couple more of these and names won't matter anyway."

There's a kind of logic there, Raylan has to admit. No names, no strings. That is, if he were going to do this. Which he ain't. "Look, I'm just looking for a quiet night or two after a really bad week."

There's a quick grin and he swallows down his shot, his eyes flashing to the returning bar man before winking at Raylan. He drops a twenty on the bar and grabs the bottle. "I’m in room #2 if you want more."

Raylan lets him go, turning back to the bartender. 

"My wife is setting up room 4. Be ready in just a few minutes."

"I'll take that beer now."

Raylan puts the big man and his big hands out of his mind. He does not need that kind of complication, not after the week he's had. And yet, somehow all he can think about is the way that hand wrapped around the bottle, the feel of those fingers on the hard line of his cock.

He pays for his beer when the man's wife comes in with the key, and gives her the cost of the room for the night. Picking up his hat, Raylan heads for the door. He stops at his car and pulls his bag out before crossing to the door marked with the number 4.

Two doors down the door is open, weak yellow light making a silhouette of the man leaning against the frame. Raylan opens the door to his room and pitches his bag in the general direction of the bed, though he can't say it makes it.

He hangs his head, braces himself against the doorframe, tries to use his arms to block the sight of that big hand lifting that whiskey bottle to his lips. "I'm going to regret this," he breathes out, even as he pulls his head back far enough to see the man has straightened up, blocking more of the light.

There's a nod and the man backs off, into the room, the door still open.

Raylan sighs and consigns himself to the regret as he straightens up his own self and takes a good long look around, because this is still Kentucky and folk might take this the wrong way…or the right way and it would still get both of them beat to the point of needing dental records to identify them. If there were any teeth left when it was over.

But it's well after nine in a town where daylight is two hours into the work day, and the only folk still moving around seem to be Raylan and the man he's moving toward now.

Raylan moves through the door, and just as he's cleared it, the door closes hard, big guy moving in fast, crowding Raylan up against the wood. There're hands on his hips and a groin with a cock as hard as his own shoving into his, lips and teeth on Raylan's with a growling sort of noise, and Raylan's hat hits the door, tipping back and falling off to the side before those hands leave his hips and capture his face, holding him still for the mouth that seems determined to possess him.

The kiss is hard and wet, messy in a way Raylan hasn't had in a good long time, long fingers warm against his jaw, as lips press against his and tongue slides along them until it finds the tiniest gap, and worries against until Raylan's lips open the tiniest bit more…and when a knee presses up into his dick, Raylan gasps, his mouth opening and filling with that tongue.

It takes the sharp tang of teeth biting down on his lip to get him to focus enough to take back some of the control, the fiery taste of blood on his tongue gets him to turn them, press the other guy into the door and pull back. He's breathing hard already and he huffs out the words, "Name's Raylan."

"Sam." Comes the response. "You've got too many clothes on Raylan."

He can't argue that. It's gotten entirely too warm and he has a strong hankering to taste Sam's skin. He goes to work on his shirt while Sam does the same, pulling layers of cloth up and over his head, revealing a long torso and a sculpted chest and abdomen…he was wider in the shoulder than Raylan had expected, up close like this…and Raylan weren't no small man, but Sam could make him feel like he was.

Raylan is still trying to get his arms free of his sleeves when Sam's hands find him again, hot against his skin where Raylan's undershirt has ridden up. Sam's thumbs traces over Raylan's taut stomach as he pushes the shirt up, his lip latching on to a nipple as soon as it's exposed.

Raylan stumbles backward, fighting to get his arms loose and his boots off. Sam's hands on his hips keep him from falling and keeps him moving toward the bed, or where Raylan thinks the bed is. They find the dresser first, the corner of it digging into his thigh.

He finally gets free of his shirts, uses his free hands now to grab for Sam's belt and zipper. Raylan turns them again and the television nearly topples, but Sam shoves back against it, keeping it on the dresser. Raylan's hands move over hard muscle, down that broad chest, working on getting Sam's jeans open when Sam shoves him backward and he lands, more or less on the bed.

Sam's jeans are around his knees and still falling as he pauses at the end of the bed, yanking on Raylan's boots and dropping them. He looks predatory as he grabs the legs of Raylan's jeans and Raylan only just has the presence of mind to get them unzipped before Sam's yanking on those too.

Sam sets a knee on the bed, between Raylan's feet, his hands sliding up Raylan's calves and pushing them slowly apart. His cock is hard, and full, and positively huge like the rest of him and Raylan swallows as he sits up and reaches for Sam, licking over and into his lips, wanting more contact than just those hands moving up his legs. 

The noise he makes when Sam breaks the kiss and drops his head and takes all of Raylan's cock into his mouth is something between a gasp and a groan. Sam sucks hard and slow…all the way up to the tip where he swirls his tongue over and around and holy fuck, Raylan has to reach for his cock to keep himself from coming.

Sam spits on the tip, lets it slip down the side before he takes the whole thing again, deep into his throat and sucks up. This time he tilts his head, licks down the side to the base, then down to Raylan's balls, licking over them, then sucking them into his mouth. He nuzzles into Raylan's thigh, the day's growth on his chin rubbing a burn into the tender skin. His lips nip as he works his way up to the crease of thigh and hip, lick, suck and when he bites, Raylan's whole body arches up and a strangled sort of cry tears from him. His cock is dribbling and Sam is chuckling as he moves to the other side. Raylan settles slowly back to the mattress, only to arch up again as Sam's teeth rake over his skin.

He goes back to Raylan's cock then, wet and hot, lips and tongue, then teeth, just at the tip and Raylan reaches for him, but Sam pulls away, gets his hands up under Raylan's thighs and pushes his legs up and back, his tongue laving over Raylan's balls and down, through his crack…until he's pushing against Raylan's hole.

Raylan growls and tries to reach him, but he's off balance and it's awkward and Sam's tongue is inside him, working him open. His finger follows, and it's finger and tongue and finger again…two fingers…more tongue….licking and laving and spitting until Raylan's ass feels like it's gaping and Sam's grinning down on him.

Sam spits into his hand and smoothes it over his cock as he lines up and it doesn't take more than just the head for Raylan to realize it isn't enough, but Sam shows no signs of stopping.

"Shit." Raylan grabs for the headboard, tries to force himself to loosen up. He's only marginally successful, but it doesn't matter, as Sam slams himself home. Raylan breathes in deep and exhales slow as Sam slowly grinds his hips. "Damn, boy."

Sam chuckles darkly and pulls back part way before shoving in hard. Raylan's cock starts to spill, dripping down onto his sweaty skin. Sam seems to take that as the cue to really start banging into him, fast and hard, hair sticking to his face. His hand lifts to Raylan's cock, slowly pumping it, milking the come from it before lifting his hand to taste the creamy mess on his fingers.

His thrusts lift Raylan's hips up and his hand on Raylan's thigh is leaving bruises…but they won't be the first from this brutal week, and judging by the hunger in Sam's eyes, even as he pulls out and comes all over Raylan's cock and thigh, they won't be the last.

 

It isn't even daylight when he wakes, alone in the bed. Sam is across the room, huddled over a laptop at the rickety table that they nearly took down at some point through the night. Raylan's body aches in ways he ain't hurt in a long time, but it's not a bad hurt, not like he'd been tussling bad guys aimed at killing him anyway.

He's got a split lip and he's pretty sure his left eye has bruised in while he slept. Raylan sits up slow, reaches for the bottle of whiskey they managed to not spill off the nightstand during their last go. He gets a swig into him and swallows.

"There's coffee." Sam says, not really looking up from whatever he was doing. 

Raylan reaches for the floor, rummages around the remains of clothing until he comes up with a pair of jeans. A quick check tells him they're his and he eases into them, leaving them undone for the moment while he gets up and shuffles to the table where Sam had two take out cups of coffee.

He takes the lid off and sniffs it, decides it doesn't smell awful and nods his thanks. "Obliged."

"I figured you'd be a bit getting up after last night." He closed his laptop and shoved it into a bag. "Also figured you'd need it."

He grabbed his own cup and drained it before standing.

"Is this where you kiss me goodbye and ride off into the sunset?" Raylan asked with a smirk.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Sunrise."

"Right." He'd seen enough to know that the scars on Sam's body told a story that he couldn't read without getting caught up in something far more complicated than a reckless one night stand. He recovered his shirts and shoved his feet into his boots. "I thank you for the coffee, and I'll just keep what's left of the whiskey, if you don't mind."

"Suit yourself."

Raylan got the door open and glanced over his shoulder. "See you around, Sam."

"Not likely, Raylan. Take care of yourself."

"Yeah, you too." Though, Raylan imagined that was something Sam did very well.


End file.
